This all certainly resonates. My genetic material donors spent what little they earned on drugs, so my brothers and I pretty much lived in squalor. There was never enough - never enough food, never enough warm clothing, half the time we didn't have heat. Ask for money for a field trip or a school program? Only if we wanted a split lip or the shit knocked out of us. That's not even including the humiliation of the egg donor being so bug fuck crazy and narcissistic that she'd pull us out of class to scream at us if she misplaced her purse or a dollar or even a quarter. And CPS always at our house...
I woked my ass off in school because being in school was SAFE. If I did well, I got picked for after school programs, so I threw myself into school.
Then my grandparents got custody, and Oma was very dismissive of education - unless I got less than an A, in which case she gave me the silent treatment for weeks. And when I got As? Well, why wasn't it an A+? Nothing was ever good enough. So I continued to throw myself into my schoolwork. I was finally safe at home, but it was not happy by any means, I stayed away as much as possible.
The long term effects still linger. I still freak out if the fridge or pantry or freezer starts to look even remotely low. I still jump out of my skin at heavy footfalls. I still squeak every last bit of wear out of clothing and shoes, even if they fit poorly or are getting tattered. I'm only JUST starting to look to replacing clothes instead of looking like I'm dressing out of the rag bag.
Some of my childhood friends got out. We sometimes get together with the ones who are still on the East Side - the ones who aren't dead or in prison, anyway - and while we all still share the bond that forms when you've all grown up in violence and poverty, it's clear that our friends are pissed off at us for getting out and trying to get our heads unfucked. They're resentful and they want out, but feel like it's a betrayal to actually GET out.
no subject
I woked my ass off in school because being in school was SAFE. If I did well, I got picked for after school programs, so I threw myself into school.
Then my grandparents got custody, and Oma was very dismissive of education - unless I got less than an A, in which case she gave me the silent treatment for weeks. And when I got As? Well, why wasn't it an A+? Nothing was ever good enough. So I continued to throw myself into my schoolwork. I was finally safe at home, but it was not happy by any means, I stayed away as much as possible.
The long term effects still linger. I still freak out if the fridge or pantry or freezer starts to look even remotely low. I still jump out of my skin at heavy footfalls. I still squeak every last bit of wear out of clothing and shoes, even if they fit poorly or are getting tattered. I'm only JUST starting to look to replacing clothes instead of looking like I'm dressing out of the rag bag.
Some of my childhood friends got out. We sometimes get together with the ones who are still on the East Side - the ones who aren't dead or in prison, anyway - and while we all still share the bond that forms when you've all grown up in violence and poverty, it's clear that our friends are pissed off at us for getting out and trying to get our heads unfucked. They're resentful and they want out, but feel like it's a betrayal to actually GET out.